


Hurt/Healing

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Treats [11]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood and Injury, Feels, Friendship, Heartbreak, M/M, Multi, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Varric is a Damn Liar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: A snapshot of the Treats triad just before the end of DA:2. Includes Isabela being Isabela and Merrill being Merrill.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris/Male Hawke
Series: Treats [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/622592
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34





	Hurt/Healing

**Author's Note:**

> *BFS is what this Isabela calls whatever sword Fenris is carrying. It stands for Big Fuckin Sword.

Isabela is carrying Fenris on one side, and Merrill has the other. Hawke has the BFS, which leaves Fenris oddly light. Or that might be all the blood he’s leaving behind. _Fuck. Tits. Ass._

They have Fenris in a carry Isabela had learned from real firemen. She’d never expected to use it for an actual emergency. Hawke’s following, hands covered in blood from when he tried to help, with a murder glare sharp enough to fend off Darktown thugs.

“Don’t we have elfroot? Just give me elfroot,” Fenris objects through gritted teeth, literally holding in his guts.

“There’s not enough,” Merrill frets.

Hawke says, “We’re out, and Lady Elegance is closed.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Fenris hisses as Isabela trips over Anders’ threshold.

“Anders!” Hawke bellows. “It’s Fenris!”

“That doesn’t sound like Fenris, sounds like Hawke,” Anders grumbles as he emerges from his sleeping nook, rubbing his eyes. Those eyes get big as when he sees Fenris. Isabela doesn’t want to look closer than she has to, but Anders strides over, staring at the damage.

“Hey, asshole,” Fenris says conversationally. “Care to join the party?” He’s bleeding all over Anders’ floor. Too much blood, not enough of it _inside_ Fenris.

“Damn it, Fenris,” Anders hisses, pointing at his examination table and rushing to it.

“That’s what I said,” Hawke says, too worried to crack a smile.

“You didn’t have elfroot?” Anders is sanitizing his hands with some potion.

“That’s what I said,” echoes Fenris.

“We _did_ ,” Hawke says, hovering as Isabela and Merrill set Fenris down. Anders all but shoves Isabela out of the way, dumping the rest of the potion over the wound. “We used it all. Need to fucking charge more.”

“Or bring me,” Anders says, shoving a bit of entrail back into Fenris, rearranging organs with a healer’s aplomb. “Hands down. Hold still.”

“You were tired.”

“Hawke,” Anders says, glancing up, “Fenris is stabbed.” Anders pulls the edges of Fenris’ skin together. The elf is clenching his jaw hard.

“I didn’t _know_ he would get stabbed!”

A laugh forces itself from between Fenris’ teeth. “I _always_ get stabbed. Just not usually this—thoroughly.” Fenris winces, and Isabela wishes he’d stop with the brave face and just yell. She wrings her hands. Maker, she hasn’t done _that_ since she was little.

“Hold _still_ ,” Anders insists, raising his hands. Fenris holds his breath and closes his eyes. Isabela freezes too, one hand clutched in the other.

“I should have called a halt before our resources got so low. I should have saved for more elfroot before we tried to wipe out the Reining Men. I should have…” Hawke trails off as Anders’ hands glow blue.

Fenris gasps as the blue light falls on him, then runs to the edges of the gut wound with a rushing sound, knitting organs and flesh back together. His eyes grow wide then he relaxes back onto the table, catching his breath. Anders stumbles back, face gone an ashen grey.

“I should have been more careful,” Hawke says to no one in particular.

“Anders.” Fenris sits up, then swings his legs off the table and clasps one hand on Anders’ shoulder. “Thank you.”

Fenris looks like he wants to say something more, staring intently at Anders, and Isabela’s chest twists with emotions for her friend: relief that they got to Anders in time to repair the damage; pain in unwanted sympathy for Fenris, catching feelings; fear that his affection will tear apart the triad; hope that it won’t. Isabela plasters on a grin. No, she really just cares that they won’t be giving her more friendfiction material if this doesn’t work out. She wouldn’t wish this pain on her friends, of course, but that’s her real concern in all this. _Just kiss him._

Anders cranks his head to smirk at Fenris. “No problem.” He nods. “What’re healers for?”

Fenris turns and goes to Hawke instead. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“I’m not blaming myself, I really should have…”

Fenris grabs his head and pulls him down until their foreheads touch. “Stop. Blaming. Yourself. I’m fine. We’re fine.” _Keep going…_

Anders’ smirk softens into a smile, and Isabela is sure he checks Fenris out, color coming back already. _That’s more like it._ They all seem to have forgotten Isabela and—

“Awwwwww! You three are just the cutest.” Merrill gushes. “Aren’t they darling, Isabela?”

They all turn to her.

“Merrill…” Isabela starts.

“What? Oh, was there a moment?” She gasps. “I ruined the moment! I’m so sorry. I’ll just mind my own business over here, and you get back to what you were doing. Ignore me!”

Hawke grins and wraps an arm around Fenris’ shoulders. “Nope. That’s the thing about moments. Sometimes when they’re gone, they’re gone. Anders, get the void over here. I didn’t greet you properly.”

Anders smiles and shakes his head, but he goes to get his copper hair kissed, the other arm wrapped around him. Isabela can just hear Hawke rumble, “Thank you,” into the side of his head.

“No way are we going to lose the elf to something as simple as a _sword wound_ ,” Anders responds.

“I don’t know about _simple_ ,” Fenris objects. Then, after a brief hesitation, “Care to hear the tale?”

Anders smiles. “Sure.”

“No offense, Anders,” Isabela cuts in, “but could we tell the story somewhere with a little more”—she waves a hand around the dim clinic—“alcohol?” 

“Oooh, the Hanged Man’s got alcohol!” Merrill squeals.

“To the Hanged Man!” cries Hawke, kissing heads of copper and white hair again before releasing them.

“Hawke’s buying!” Isabela chimes in.

“I thought we’d established I’m strapped for cash?” Hawke points out.

“You poor noble,” Isabela says with fake sympathy. “You have a tab, don’t you? Besides, we just looted the Reining Men for all they’re worth.” Hawke takes care of equipment for Varric’s little band, but… “Morale is a big part of not dying, too.”

Hawke rolls his eyes. “Fine. First round only.”

“Spoilsport.”

They all grin, Fenris collects his sword, and they head to the Hanged Man.

Isabela will remember tonight vividly when Varric tells the tale of how Anders was killed at the hands of Hawke himself, at Fenris’ insistence.

**Author's Note:**

> Before you get too mad at me, please note the tags.


End file.
